Morning After
by Lingering Lilies
Summary: The morning after Santana's first one night stand in New York, Hummelberry decide to give her grief about it.


**A/N: Someone prompted this on Tumblr and I thought it sounded fun.**

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Santana woke up, feeling a bit achey, but a certain inner relief and satisfaction accompanied her headache. It had been a while since she'd gotten laid, and even if - what was her name again? - hadn't been the best fuck of her life, it felt good to be back in the saddle. It was another confirmation she'd done the right thing by moving here. And to further her content on this already-blistering-hot summer morning, she had the added satisfaction of confirming that she was still capable of having sex without feelings. She harbored no affection for the girl sleeping next to her, and was happy to let it stay that way.

When first faced with singledom, Santana had been struck with the horrifying question of whether coming out meant she couldn't have sex without it meaning something. That is, the only girl she'd ever had sex with was Brittany, and those feelings had spanned back years or maybe even her whole life, and fuck, sex had just gotten a lot more complicated if she couldn't have it no-strings like she could with boys. She almost wished she could go back to those times just for the simplicity of it all, but then she remembered what that would entail and was relieved that she was older and wiser and, however corny it sounded, more herself.

Santana rolled over and saw the auburn curls of the girl she'd brought home - seriously, what was her name? Anna? Allison? Abigail? - and wondered what she was supposed to do now. Liza and Joel had been out into the wee hours of the morning at some tragic gay karaoke bar in the West Village, so Santana had had the apartment to herself to bring Allegra or Amy or Arlene home and enjoy not one, not two, but three rounds before they'd fallen asleep.

Santana knew she was in dire need of a shower, and since April was still asleep, she figured she would take one so she didn't have to face her still sticky and bed-wrinkled. She rose carefully as to not shift the mattress too much, and slunk toward the bathroom.

"Who is she, Santana!" Rachel hissed, appearing out of nowhere.

Santana startled and leapt back. Seriously, why couldn't Rachel sleep until noon like a normal person on the weekend? Cringing with her hangover and her annoyance at having to deal with Rachel at this hour and state of consciousness, Santana held up her hands. "Don't worry, I wouldn't bring a drug dealer or prostitute into our house."

Rachel narrowed her eyes, obviously still touchy on the subject.

Santana scaled it back. "I'm just letting her sleep it off and then she'll go. Sorry to tamper with your feng shui or whatever," she grumbled, entering the bathroom and attempting to close the door.

But Rachel prevented her from shutting her out completely.

"This is so exciting!" Rachel said, seeming to forgive Santana's underhanded insults. "You have to tell me how you met her! Did she come on to you first, or did you go for it? Oh, Santana, I'm so proud-"

"Jesus, Berry, she's just for fun, now let me take a goddamn shower before I scratch your face off."

"That reminds me, I've been meaning to ask you, how exactly do you negotiate those nails when you and your lady are getting intimate, because to me it seems-"

Santana slammed the door in Rachel's face, appalled by the intrusiveness of her room mate and the thickness of her skull. Seriously, how did Rachel survive in a city like this, with such poor powers of observation? It could only be a miracle.

Santana took a long, hot shower, breathing in the steam to loosen her headache and recalling some of the more memorable moments from the night before. She'd been significantly tipsy when she first invited Ariana home with her, but by the time the L had pulled into its final stop in Bushwick, she had her wits about her and even had the decency to offer Alana a glass of wine as they settled in and pretended they didn't just want to tear each other's clothes off and be done with it. After a glass of Pinot Grigio - a coworker of Santana's had sworn Pinot Grigio was a sure-fire way into a girl's pants - Amanda had kissed her, hard and dirty, and they'd filled the loft with the loudest, most primal, satisfying noises Santana had heard in months.

The apartment was quiet now, and Santana wanted it to stay that way. Beneath the static of the shower, she couldn't hear much outside her own thoughts. She lathered and rinsed her hair, shaved under her arms, and set about to loofa her entire body, not only to scrub off whatever sex juices were still left, but also to slough off the dead skin and city grime that built up every day. New York wasn't the dirtiest city in the world, but it wasn't the cleanest, and now that summer was here, she had taken to showering at least three times a day, if not more.

Santana was halfway through her scrub when she heard voices outside the bathroom. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but they were animated and cartoonish and she almost yelled at Kurt and Rachel to quiet the fuck down so Andrea could sleep long enough for Santana to think up the least awkward exit plan for her.

And then with a horrified, sinking feeling, Santana realized that Kurt and Rachel were talking _to_ Alissa.

No.

No, no, no. Santana should never have brought a girl here if there was even the slightest chance her roommates would come in contact with her. They weren't socialized enough to talk to normal people like Alicia. She couldn't bear the thought of Amber realizing what a dork Santana was for living with two losers, even if they were kind of her friends now. Okay, her only friends. And she really didn't mind them sometimes, but she still had some shame to sort out before she could introduce them to other people.

Santana rushed through the rest of her shower at triple speed, hoping to curtail the Hummelberry train wreckage of her morning-after before too much damage was done. But knowing them, it was already too late.

She emerged, clothing sticking to her where she hadn't dried thoroughly, glaring at Rachel as she heard the phrase, "So Alexis, will you be joining us for brunch? We'd really love to have you come along, Kurt and I recently found the most adorable little place that makes fantastic bellinis for only -"

"Rachel!" Santana barked. She rushed into the kitchen, determined to whisk Alexa - thank god she'd heard the name - away from her socially inept roommates. "Will you stop with the brunch thing?"

"Santana, it's a thing people do here! _Everyone_ has brunch, I was merely being courteous by extending an invitation to your date-"

"No!" Santana said, too loud again. "Oh my god, Rachel. We can't do brunch."

Santana shot Alexa a look that begged forgiveness.

In daylight, Santana had to admit Alexa wasn't nearly as cute as she'd remembered. She wasn't a troll, but Santana wasn't into the tattoo sleeve on her right arm or the nose ring or especially - oh god - that bowler hat she was wearing again. Alexa gave her a tense smile and adjusted her bag on her shoulder.

Now Santana was stuck in awkward silence with three people looking at her with expectant expressions. Did she speak for Alexa, declining the invitation with more certainty? Or did she unceremoniously usher her out, insulting her with the implication she had no desire to see her again? She hadn't been a bad lay, but she was too hipster and funky compared to what Santana was used to. Santana cursed herself for her beer goggles - okay, who was she kidding, tequila goggles - and pinched the bridge of her nose.

Santana was stunned at her inability to churn out witty banter or even insult her roommates. So _this_ was what people meant when they talked about the awkward morning after.

At that moment Kurt piped up, "So! How did you two meet?" His face settled into a smug grin as he took his place at the kitchen table, leaning into it with one hand under his chin.

Santana interrupted his none-too-clever attempt to embarrass her.

"Cubbyhole, and as much as I would love to regale you with the details, I'm going to be late for class if I stay in this apartment for one more minute."

Rachel's whole face scrunched in a frown. "You don't take classes."

"I do now," Santana said, raising her nose to preempt any challenge her horrid roommates threw at her. "Alexa, I'm so sorry to rush out like this," she said, turning to the disheveled girl beside her.

"Whatever," the girl replied. "Nice meeting you." She adjusted her bag over her shoulder and left without making eye contact.

As soon as the door closed and the trio heard the girl's footsteps fade down the hall, Rachel and Kurt burst out laughing as though they had been holding it in for hours. Santana burned with anger.

"Shut up!" she hissed. "You two are the spawn on Rick Astley's Youtube presence, I swear."

Rachel and Kurt continued laughing, Kurt's high pitched whinnying and Rachel's chortling just making Santana angrier.

"Santana, your face!" Rachel said, practically sobbing with hilarity. "I have never seen you so freaked out!"

Kurt chimed right in, "And I've never seen anyone flee this apartment with such relief as that poor thing," he said, wiping his eyes and pointing toward the door.

"Some friends you are," Santana said, scowling as she crossed her arms.

Kurt lifted a handkerchief to dab at his eyes. "Oh, come off it, Santana, you were never going to see her again anyway."

"How would you know?" Santana hissed.

Rachel tried to smooth out her face and approached Santana with a look of mock sympathy. "Because," she said, placing her hand on Santana's bicep, "you didn't even know her name."

At that, Kurt started snickering again, and Rachel lost it.

"You called her Alexa!" Kurt blurted.

Defensive, Santana crossed her arms. "That's her name!"

"No, it's _Alexis_," Kurt said. "You're going to have to work on your game if you want to keep this one-night-stand thing up."

"Like you'd have the first clue about that," Santana sneered. "If you ever tried to have a one night stand you'd probably just end up trading brioche recipes and watching documentaries about the holocaust."

Kurt sighed, still smiling in good humor. "It's called being in a relationship, Santana," he said, rising to put the kettle on the stove. "And someday, like it or not, you're going to find yourself in one and you'll be coming to _me_ for advice."

"Well today is not that day," Santana muttered.

"_Clearly_," Kurt said, raising his eyebrows over the stove.

"Santana, we're proud of you," Rachel said. "You could have done a lot worse than..." She gestured towards the door as she struggled to remember the girl's name.

"Alexis," Kurt supplied.

"Alexis!" Rachel echoed.

Thrown off by the compliment, Santana gave a stiff, one-shouldered shrug.

Then, the three of them exchanged glances before Kurt wrinkled his nose and whispered, "But we know you could have done a lot better." He gave her an affectionate wink and Santana, finally diffused, allowed herself to giggle.

Maybe she didn't have the worst roommates in the world.


End file.
